


he loves me ...not?

by notquiteaghost



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras' life is a Shakespeare play, Fairy Interference, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras wakes up in a universe where Grantaire doesn't love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he loves me ...not?

**Author's Note:**

> this was so much fun, omg. i should write more magical hijinks fic, i'd forgotten how much fun it is.
> 
> for [this](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13289.html?thread=8499177#t8499177) kink meme prompt.

Initially, everything's the same. 

Enjolras wakes up in his bed. He can faintly hear music, coming from the direction of the kitchen, and when he gets up and pads sleepily in that direction, he finds Combeferre and Courfeyrac, eating breakfast. That's good. He's glad it's not them.

"'Morning." Courfeyrac says. "Sleep well?"

Enjolras hums indecisively. "Had a strange dream. Something involving a fairy?" He shrugs a shoulder. "And yourself?"

"Good. It was a good night." Courfeyrac replies, leering. Combeferre rolls his eyes, but there's already a very impressive hickey blooming on his neck, so it's not all talk. 

Enjolras nods, and the small talk continues through breakfast, quickly turning to discussion of today's meeting (everything's the same there).

And, up until Enjolras arrives at the meeting, he doesn't even notice anything's different. And he's pretty sure that's because there isn't anything to notice, strange dreams aside. 

In the room above the Musain, everyone's exactly where he expected them to be. Cosette is practically in Marius' lap, Jehan is babbling excitedly to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Joly and Bossuet are curled up together, and Grantaire is-- not where Enjolras expects him to be. 

Instead of being holed up in one corner with a bottle or two and his sketchbook, he's stretched out over Bahorel and Feuilly's laps, Feuilly's hand in his hair. 

Enjolras frowns at him, thrown, before shaking his head and continuing over to Combeferre. That won't be the difference, that's nothing important, that doesn't mean anything. Why would that mean anything? It can't be Grantaire, that'd be... that just wouldn't make sense.

Except, when Enjolras starts talking, Grantaire doesn't sit up and give him his full attention. He's listening, sure, but he's also whispering in Bahorel's ear. He isn't interrupting Enjolras at every given opportunity, and it's disorientating, because Enjolras has gotten so used to him doing it he's started to pause automatically. 

Combeferre is frowning at Enjolras in concern by the time he reaches the end of his speech. Enjolras almost doesn't catch it, he's so focused on trying to pinpoint the differences in Grantaire. 

He isn't paying Enjolras as much attention. He's also drinking less, though that may have something to do with the way Feuilly is watching him like a hawk. He seems... lighter, somehow. Not as on-edge. Not as melancholy. 

Enjolras hesitates to say 'happier', because it's not as if Grantaire is usually sad, but, well. 'Happier' is definitely one of the words that springs to mind. 

So he's sober, he's looser, he's something-like-happier, and he's realised Enjolras isn't the only thing in the room. What, exactly, does that mean?

It takes until the end of the evening for Enjolras to make the connection.

Grantaire has just stood up to leave, and Feuilly and Bahorel have stood up as well, and Grantaire is laughing at something Bahorel said and Feuilly leans in to whisper something else in his ear and they're standing so close together they're practically on top of each other, and oh. _Oh_.

That makes sense.

That makes a lot of sense, actually.

And that confirms Enjolras' suspicions that his strange-dream-about-a-fairy was a little less of a dream than he'd like it to be. 

Because his Grantaire is definitely not in a polyamorous relationship with Feuilly and Bahorel. His Bahorel is straight, one of a very short list of straight people Enjolras actually likes, and his Feuilly is dating a curly-haired individual with good taste in books Enjolras hasn't actually met yet. 

His Grantaire, if he's in love with anyone, is in love with Enjolras.

Not that Enjolras has ever admitted that to himself before. Not that Enjolras has ever let himself think about that before. But, well, apparently everything's backwards today, because he's woken up in some kind of alternate universe or fairy glamour or incredibly vivid dream. His life has become a Shakespeare play.

...At least it's not Romeo and Juliet.

-

When Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac get home, Enjolras attempts to go straight to bed - in order to stare at the ceiling and think about his feelings until he can't tell up from down, love from hate and he's given himself a headache, because he's not sure what else he can do in this situation - but Combeferre catches him by the arm before he can get out of the living room.

Enjolras frowns at him. "What?"

Combeferre frowns right back. "You've been acting odd all evening. Something's off."

"And, in our experience, when something's off about you," Courfeyrac adds, looking at Enjolras with concern written all over his face, "It's better to head it off at the pass, rather than let you stew in your own juices for days until you explode. No one likes it when you explode. It's messy and ugly and we always end up clearing it up."

"...That sentence got away from you, didn't it." Enjolras says.

Courfeyrac shrugs. "Hey, I tried."

"Anyway," Combeferre says, pointedly, "Something's bothering you. We're not letting you go until you've told us what."

Enjolras sighs. He knows his friends; they're just as stubborn as him. If he tries to resist, they'll be here all night. "You'll think I'm lying. Or intoxicated. Or losing my mind. Or all three."

There's a pause.

"...And we're officially having this conversation sitting down." Courfeyrac says, decisively. He grabs both Enjolras and Combeferre by the hand and leads them into the kitchen.

They sit down at the kitchen table, and Courfeyrac starts to make tea. Enjolras doesn't usually drink tea, but Courfeyrac believes caffeinated leaves are the solution to every problem, so he's grown used to it. 

Another thing that isn't different, then. This Courfeyrac also gravitates towards the kettle in a crisis like it's calling to him.

"E?" Combeferre says, quietly, cautiously, like he's... worried about Enjolras. Which is understandable, but still disconcerting. "You're starting to scare me."

Enjolras blinks back to himself. "Sorry. It's... It's just as weird for me as it is for you, promise. Um." He swallows. He doesn't know what to say, and he always knows what to say, and that's just making it worse. He resists the urge to twist his hoodie sleeves in his fingers, because he doesn't need to worry his friends anymore than he absolutely has to. "You know that dream I mentioned?"

"With the fairies?"

Nodding, Enjolras drops his gaze to the table top and says, "Not, er. Not a dream."

"...Elaborate."

Enjolras has almost never heard Combeferre use that tone before. The last time it happened, he was talking Jehan out of an episode. 

Enjolras doesn't look up from the table top, because now he's not sure he wants to see the look on Combeferre's face. "I haven't had a mental breakdown, I promise. I just... had a dream about a fairy telling me I'd pissed it off and it was going to exact it's revenge by removing the one thing I needed the most, and then I woke up in some strange, parallel universe that's almost identical to the one I'm used to except for Grantaire."

"Grantaire." Combeferre says, his voice near-flat. What little emotion there is seems to mostly be surprise.

Understandable. It's not like Enjolras and Grantaire are close.

(Or, at least, he's presuming they're not, in this strange backwards-verse. He's close with _his_ Grantaire, in the sense that they argue a lot and it's only serious some of the time, and Enjolras has a key to Grantaire's apartment and an open invitation to 'hang out, you know you want to, God knows you deserve a little down time every now and again', and they've been hesitantly not-quite-flirting for a month or so now. His Grantaire isn't here, though.

Enjolras probably shouldn't be surprised that he's already starting to miss him).

" _Grantaire_." Courfeyrac adds, when Enjolras gets slightly lost in his own head for a minute or two.

"Yeah. He, um... I, er..." Enjolras trails off, unable to find the right words. "It's complicated. But he's the one thing I need the most, according to this fairy, and I am actually inclined to agree with the fairy. I miss him. I saw him... twenty-eight hours ago, and I already miss him."

"You saw him less than half an hour ago." Combeferre says, sounding confused.

Enjolras makes a frustrated noise. "No, I didn't. I saw _your_ R. Your R, who doesn't pick apart my arguments at every single opportunity, who probably hasn't ever turned up in exam season to cook me dinner because he knew I wouldn't have remembered to eat, who goes home with Bahorel and Feuilly and doesn't look at me like I hung the moon and isn't _my_ R. I miss _my_ R."

"... _Ooooh_." Courfeyrac says. Enjolras finally looks up from the table, just in time to catch the look of realisation on Courfeyrac's face. "You pissed off a fairy and now it's interfering in your love life, of course it is. You're a character in a Shakespeare play."

"I already made that connection." Enjolras mutters, but Courfeyrac giggles at him as he pours three mugs of tea and places them on the table. (Enjolras' mug isn't the 'make love, not war' one his mother gave him. He hopes it didn't get broken here).

"Sorry," he says, apparently trying to muffle his laughter, "but this is priceless, really. Can I tell Jehan? Please say I can tell Jehan, this would make Jehan's whole _year_."

"It'd top meeting Margaret Atwood?" Enjolras asks, surprised, but he's met with blank looks. "...That didn't happen, did it. Okay." 

"I'm guessing there isn't anything we can do to help?" Combeferre asks. "Short of trying to track down a fairy, that is." 

"No, it's fine, I'm good." Enjolras assures them. "I think the fairy said something about forty-eight hours? So I just have to get through another day of this, and then I can go back to my Grantaire and you can get your Enjolras back and everything'll be fine." 

Everything will be fine. It has to be. 

>\- 

The fairy did not say forty-eight hours. 

The fairy used some fairy measurement of time Enjolras misremembered as forty-eight hours. In human terms, the fairy said a week. 

One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. 

Enjolras did, in fact, make it through two days without a problem. By the end of the third day, however, it was starting to get difficult. 

By the end of the fourth day, he resorted to explaining it all to Jehan and letting the poet distract him with sci-fi and baked goods. His usual methods of stress relief are, of course, unavailable, because his usual methods of stress relief are sparring with Bahorel and verbally sparring with Grantaire. 

When he wakes up on the eighth day, he's resigned, more than anything. He's stopped expecting to have returned to the right place. 

He walks blearily into the kitchen, following the faint sound of music, and in there he finds Combeferre and Courfeyrac, eating breakfast. 

He gets the strangest sense of deja-vu. 

"Morning." Courfeyrac says. "Sleep well?" 

"...Yeah." Enjolras replies. "Had the strangest dream, something involving fairies, of all things. Out of curiosity, what's the date today?" 

"May fifteenth." Combeferre says, and hands Enjolras his barely-touched mug of coffee, apparently deciding Enjolras needs it more. 

Enjolras definitely needs it more. Enjolras has returned to his universe. Enjolras has to find Grantaire. 

...Grantaire will be at the meeting. Enjolras needs to eat breakfast. And shower. And possibly Google ways to express thanks to fairies. 

"Are you okay?" Courfeyrac asks, frowning at Enjolras over his bowl of cereal. "You look kinda... odd." 

"I'm fine." Enjolras says. "Seriously, I'm fine. Any plans for today? I wanted to stop by the library before the meeting..." 

\- 

When Enjolras walks into the room above the Musain, everyone's exactly where he expected them to be. Jehan is babbling excitedly to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Cosette is practically in Marius' lap, Joly and Bossuet are curled up together, Feuilly has Bahorel in a headlock, and Grantaire is shoehorned into a corner, sketchbook balanced on his knees, watching the proceedings with bemused interest. 

Enjolras wasn't aware he was holding his breath until he lets it out in relief. 

Instead of heading over to Combeferre, like he'd usually do, Enjolras ends up beside Grantaire without really thinking about it. 

Grantaire looks up in surprise. "Why, hello there. Is something the matter?" 

"We need to talk." Enjolras says. Grantaire's eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, but Enjolras doesn't let him say anything. "Alone. Now." 

Presumably hearing the urgency in his voice, Grantaire stands up without protesting and follows Enjolras out the door, down the stairs and into the tiny store cupboard most people don't realise exists. 

"So. What's up?" Grantaire asks, once they're alone and Enjolras is staring at him wordlessly. 

Enjolras swallows. "You... like me, right?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I like you." Grantaire says, sounding confused, then his expression clears. "Oh. You mean _like_ like. In which case; what kind of question is that? Of course I like like you. I'm ridiculously in love with you, I thought this was common knowledge."

"I'm a little slow on the uptake, so sue me." Enjolras grumbles, but he's smiling. He kind of can't help it. 

"Are you going somewhere with this, or...?"

Enjolras stares at Grantaire for a moment more, before giving in to the urge and pressing their mouths together. Grantaire makes a surprised noise, freezes for one terrifying second, then melts into Enjolras.

Enjolras threads his fingers through Grantaire's hair and bites at Grantaire's lip. This earns him a groan, so he does it again. And again.

And then Grantaire pulls away, resting his forehead against Enjolras' and panting as he says, "If you don't stop that, we're going to end up having sex in a store cupboard. I am not having sex with you for the first time in a store cupboard, not when your bed is less than ten minutes walk from here."

"The meeting." Enjolras replies, mentally cursing his timing. He should have waited 'till after the meeting. Why did he ever think he'd be able to stop kissing Grantaire, once he'd started?

"I can contain myself for an hour or two." Grantaire promises. "Just, don't make eye contact with me when you're all mid-impassioned-speech, that was hot enough before I knew what you tasted like."

"Deal." Enjolras says, and then he leans in and presses their lips back together, because Grantaire is _right there_ and how can he _not_?

(They don't make it back upstairs for ten whole minutes, and when they do, Courfeyrac wolf-whistles and both Jehan and Cosette give them knowing looks. It's worth it).

**Author's Note:**

> i am [here](http://notquiteaghost.tumblr.com) on tumblr. if you liked this fic, please [click my pokefarm eggs](http://pokefarm.com/user/notquiteaghost).


End file.
